


Chance Encounters

by Silvaimagery



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Office (UK)
Genre: AU, Crossover, Gen, Hiatus fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:33:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvaimagery/pseuds/Silvaimagery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim just wanted to find his shoe and go home, but by chance he encounters a strange fellow who seems to know all about him just by looking at him.  Turned out to be a better birthday than he thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the office episode ‘The Quiz’.
> 
> Sorry if it comes out too Americanized, but well. I’m not British.
> 
> How much longer must I wait for Season 3?!!

I scrounge the back of the pub in the dark trying to find my missing shoe.

I stand up and take a moment.

Fuck them all.

You know what; fuck me for letting them treat me like this.

“Sod this.”

I’ll just get another bloody shoe.

I turn away but stop.

There is a figure standing in the shadows. He’s hard to make out but I can tell that it was a man, could be a woman but the figure is too tall, the shoulders too wide.

And I can tell that he is looking at me.

I clear my throat and force myself to walk forward.

“Evening.” I say.

No answer.

A shiver creeps down my back.

I try to keep my distance from where he’s leaning against the wall.

I side eye him as I pass by

“John.” A deep voice says.

I stop against my better judgment.

“Excuse me?”

He pitches forward and I move in time to catch him.

He’s a dead weight in my arms.

“Jesus.”

I lower him to the ground, careful not to bash his head in on the concrete.

What now?

I debate whether to go back and get help or call an ambulance.

He’s obviously hurt, why else would he faint?

He doesn’t smell like he’s been drinking.

I sigh.

“Okay.”

I stand up and go bring my car around.

I drag him over and get him into the passenger seat.

My mom was going to be upset but well. I couldn’t just leave him here.

I don’t know why.

I scratch my head as I get my fist look at him.

His face is wan and he’s beyond pale.

His ginger hair curls over his forehead and his face is scruffy, like he hasn’t had a shave in over a week.

I get him situated before getting into the car and driving home.

******************

“Mom!”

I groan as I half carry, half drag the strange bloke into the house.

“Tim! What-who is this?”

“He’s sick.”

“But who is he?”

I lay him down on the couch.

“Oi! What is the meaning of this Tim?” My dad asks.

He stands from his chair by the telly.

“Sorry dad. But I don’t know where else to put him.”

“But who is he?” My mom asks again.

“He’s a friend.” I lie.

“What’s wrong with him then?” My dad asks.

“I don’t know. He just fainted.”

I remove the blue scarf and unbutton the coat.

His jacket and shirt underneath are soaked with sweat.

“I hope he’s not contagious.” Dad says backing away.

I roll my eyes.

I unbutton the black jacket.

The grey shirt is soaked with blood on the bottom left side.

My mom gasps from where she’s leaning over the back of the couch.

I look at her.

Her hands are pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Perhaps we should call the coppers.” My dad suggests.

“We can’t.” I tell him.

“Tim. What are we supposed to do? He’s bleeding.” My mom says.

“At least call a bloody ambulance before he dies on our couch.” My dad says.

“Okay. Everyone just calm down.” I say.

I stand and take a deep breath.

“Mom, fetch some towels and some antiseptic. Dad, grab the first aid kit.”

“You can’t think you can just place a plaster over it. Look at all the blood! He needs a doctor.” My dad tells me.

“We don’t know the extent of the damage and the longer you stand there arguing with me, the more he’s going to bleed out. Now please, just do as you’re told.”

Thankfully he listens to me.

I divest the bloke of his coat and his jacket.

I unbutton his shirt and slowly remove it from the wound.

It looks like someone sowed him up but it seems to have become infected which explains the fever.

My mom bustles in with some towels and the peroxide.

I place a towel under his wound and clean it with some peroxide.

“Here.”

I grab the first aid kit that my dad hands me.

I open a packet of antibacterial cream and rub some over the wound.

My dad hands me some gauze and I re-bandage the wound.

“We can’t leave him on the couch all night.” My mom says wringing her hands.

My room was up the stairs and I couldn’t possibly move him like this.

I had barely managed to get him in the house.

“Maybe we can move him into the guest bedroom.” I say.

My mom and dad have a silent conversation.

“I’ll go get some fresh sheets on the mattress.” My mom says patting my back.

I smile at her.

“So. How do you know this fellow?” My dad asks me.

“Uhh.”

He raises an eyebrow.

Then he frowns.

“Oh god. Tim is he…are you? I mean, is he your boyfriend? Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Yes dad, I know. But no, he is not my boyfriend.”

“Oh thank god.”

A giggle escapes me.

“Here, help me get him up.”

My dad grabs him from the shoulders and lifts him to a seated position.

We twist him until he’s sitting at the edge of the sofa.

I remove his long coat and his suit jacket; I stuff his scarf into his coat pocket.

Dad helps me unbutton the cuffs of his shirt before removing that as well.

He is really thin.

I place one arm around my shoulders and my dad does the same.

We get him on his feet and slowly move him into the guest bedroom.

Mom placed a towel on the bed and I make sure to lay him down over it.

My dad stares down at the stranger before he leaves the room.

Mom bustles in and convers him with a blanket before smoothing back his hair from his forehead.

I remove his shoes and place them in the closet where I hung up his coat and his jacket.

My mom brings me some dinner and a wet towel.

“I’m going to put his shirt in the wash; hopefully some of the blood will come off.”

“Okay mom, thanks.”

She walks out sending one last look to our guest.

I wipe down the blokes face and neck.

He moans and moves his head, his sweaty hair sticking to his head.

I sit down and eat dinner, watching him the whole time.

He moves a bit but settles down.

I place my empty plate on the nightstand and sit there.

****************

“John.”

I jerk awake.

I stand over him.

He tries to open his eyes.

“John.” He whispers.

“It’s okay.” I say.

He cracks open his eyes and reaches a hand towards me.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but I couldn’t. I hope you can understand why I did it.” He says.

I frown down at him.

I sit down next to him on the bed and take his hand.

His hand squeezes mine.

“I’m sorry.” He says again, his voice shaking.

“You’re going to be okay. I’m going to get you a fever reducer, stay awake just a bit longer okay?”

He nods.

I release his hand and hurry out of the room.

I find the medication and I take it and a glass of water back to the room.

He’s still awake.

I hold his head up as he takes the pills.

“Thank you.” He says.

He lies back down with a sigh.

“What’s your name?”

“Not important.”

“Not…after you almost died?” I laugh. “I think I deserve to know who you are after the shitty day I’ve had.”

“You’re a thirty year old man who still lives at home because you’re too insecure to take action and go for your psychology degree. You quit college after a year for the same reason and took a job at a paper company where you stay year after year even though you think the job is pointless. Most likely because you’re in love with the receptionist.”

“How did you…I mean, that was amazing.”

He smiles.

“I’m Tim by the way.”

“Sherlock.”

“Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes? The bloke from the papers?”

“Yes. It’s important that no one know where I am.”

“No, of course. What happened to you?”

“I had a miscalculation. I assure you that it won’t happen again.”

“Well, get some rest.”

“If you would be willing to keep me company, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Sure.”

I sit back down.

I stare at him, he stares at the ceiling.

“I thought you were supposed to be dead?”

He looks at me.

“I had to make people believe that.”

“And John is Dr. Watson, your best friend.”

“Yes.”

“I know you don’t need my reassurances but from what I’ve read in his blog, he will forgive you.”

“Obviously.”

“Right.”

We sit in silence.

He begins to drift off but keeps jerking awake.

“It’s okay, I’m here.” I tell him.

“Don’t let anyone through the door.”

“No.”

He finally allows himself to fall asleep and I keep vigil.

I walk around a few times to keep myself from falling asleep.

Soon the sun is rising and I leave a message at work that I won’t be in.

I have a lot of sick days stacked up.

I hear dad leave and mom lets me know through the door that she’s going to pop down to the shop and that she won’t be long.

I yawn and go splash some water on my face.

When I come back out, Sherlock is awake.

When I come back out, Sherlock is awake.

“Help me to the bathroom.” He orders.

He seems to have forgotten his manners.

I help him stand up and I give him a moment to recover from the pain he must be feeling.

“Alright, slowly.” I instruct.

“Of course, don’t be stupid.” He answers back.

“Is your bad mood a sign that you’re on the mend?”

He smiles.

There’s a knock on the front door.

I frown.

“Don’t answer it.” He tells me.

“Why? Is someone after you?”

“Highly unlikely but I did make a mistake.”

“And you think they followed you here? Oh god.”

“Don’t panic.”

We listen as the knocking becomes more insistent.

“What do we do?” I ask.

He stares down at me.

“Go and see.”

“But you just said-”

“I know what I said. Just go and do it.”

I leave him reclining against the door jam.

“Wait. In my coat pocket, there is a gun. Take it with you.”

“But I don’t know how to use a gun.”

“Just point and shoot.”

I roll my eyes but I get the gun.

I tuck it in the back of my pants.

“Don’t shoot yourself.”

“Ha, ha.”

I leave the bedroom and make my way to the front hall.

I stare at the door before opening it.

A young woman stands there typing on her phone.

“Can I help you?”

“My boss would like to speak with you.” She says not once looking up at me.

“Uhh, okay. Well, you can tell your boss that I’m not interested. Good day.”

She puts a hand out against the door before I can close it.

“It’s very important.”

“Still not interested, thanks.”

“Well, in that case. He will come and speak with you here.”

“No, tell him not to bother.”

“He’s on his way up.”

I sigh.

“Who exactly is your boss?”

“A very important person.”

“I see. And does he have a name?”

She smiles.

“Of course.”

“Do you have a name? I’m Tim.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Are you going to tell me your name?” I smile.

“Anthea.”

“Pretty name.”

“Yes, I know.”

A man appears behind her, a very posh bloke from the looks of him.

“Mr. Canterbury. So sorry to disrupt your morning but it is very important that we speak.”

He leans against his umbrella and smiles at me.

I narrow my eyes.

“And you are?”

“An interested party in the man you are currently hiding inside your home.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He laughs.

“You are a terrible liar.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“Perhaps we can move this to a more private area.” He says indicating inside the house.

I look back into the house before looking back at him.

“You look like an important fellow and I’m sure that if I refuse to let you in, you’ll just find other ways to get what you want.”

“Of course.”

I move aside and let them in.

He sits on the sofa, Anthea standing next to him.

“What do you want?”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

He smiles again.

“We both know that he’s currently in your guest bedroom and in no condition to go out venturing by himself.”

“Do we?”

“You will be greatly rewarded for helping him out.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“Yes, I know. You have nothing to spend it on but I am sure that your parents could always use it to go on holiday. I know they have been planning on going away to the states for a few weeks. Perhaps I can facilitate their trip.”

An icy shiver goes down my spine and I swallow.

“Who the hell are you? How do you know all these things?”

“Leave him alone Mycroft.” 

Sherlock is standing in the kitchen, leaning heavily against the table.

He’s wrapped up in the blanket.

I help Sherlock into the living room and I gently sit him down on my dad’s recliner.

I notice that he shaved and his cheekbones are even more pronounced.

“You’ve looked better.” Mycroft tells him.

“And you look like you’ve gained weight.” Sherlock answers sending Mycroft a haughty look.

“Wait. You guys know each other?”

“Unfortunately. This is my brother Mycroft. He likes to poke his nose in my business.”

“Anything that involves you is my business, especially when you insist on running head on into danger.”

“I was hardly in any danger.”

“You almost bled out and would have most likely been in worst condition had Mr. Canterbury not taken pity on you.”

“It’s Tim.” I say.

Mycroft nods and Sherlock glares at me.

“What?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes and looks away.

“Since you have finished what you set out to do, you are coming home with me.”

“No. I can’t yet.”

“There is nothing else left for you to do.”

“I have to make sure.” Sherlock insists.

“There is no one left Sherlock.”

They have a staring contest.

“I’ll just put the kettle on. Tea anyone?” I ask.

They both turn to look at me.

“No. Don’t bother yourself Tim. We really must be going.” Mycroft says looking at his brother.

Sherlock glares at his brother.

“Oh. Alright. I’ll just help you then.” I tell Sherlock.

I help him up off the chair and back into the guest bedroom.

I grab his things and put the gun back in his coat pocket.

I go search for his shirt and I find it in the laundry room.

I help him put it on and while he buttons it up, I help put his shoes back on.

“You sure you’re feeling well enough?” I ask.

He looks down at me.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good.”

I stand and clap my hands together.

I help him get his jacket back on.

He stands with difficulty.

“I’m sure Dr. Watson will be happy to have you back and he can check your wound.”

“Thank you for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He nods.

I grab his coat and follow him out of the room.

I hand him his scarf and I watch him put it on before helping him with his coat.

“Come along then. Thank you very much for your help Tim. My brother and I are in your debt.”

I wave him away.

“It was no problem.”

Mycroft nods and walks out the door, Anthea trailing behind him.

I look at Sherlock.

“Let me know how things work out with Dr. Watson.”

He nods.

“Thank you, Tim.”

I smile and nod.

He walks out.

I close the door and recline against it.

**************

A box comes in the post three weeks later.

I open it and inside I find some shirts, ties and shoes. 

They look bloody expensive.

Three new suits are delivered the next day; they seem to have been tailored specially for me.

I hang them in my closet.

I receive an e-mail from Dr. Watson.

He thanks me for looking after Sherlock and for keeping ‘the bloody git’ alive.

I print out a copy of the e-mail and I save it in my keepsake box.

This turned out to be a better birthday than I imagined, I don’t know how I’ll be able to top it next year.

 

The End.


End file.
